THE SOLDIER OF THE LIGHT INFANTRY;
OR, THE CHASSEUR.
He does not walk; he runs; he is truly the soldier of his age—an age of steam. He comes from Vincennes to Paris in thirty-five minutes; it takes a first class fiacre just twice as long.
The light infantry has given abundant proofs of courage. It was in Africa, in 1842, that it received the baptism of fire, a glorious baptism.
From the very first the chasseurs inspired the Arabs with unconquerable terror. It is true that everything combines to give them a frightful appearance in battle; their somber costume, their strange evolutions, the shrill sound of their trumpets, make them resemble, seen in the midst of the smoke, a legion of unchained devils.
When the Arabs saw them advancing on the run they took flight.
The chasseurs have a terrible weapon. Their rifles, which are loaded with oblong balls, pierce a board fifty millimeters in thickness at a distance of more than a quarter of a mile; and as all the chasseurs are excellent marksmen, they make frightful havoc in the enemy’s ranks.
It is amusing to see the profound astonishment of the Arabs wounded at such a distance. They believe there is some witchcraft about it.
At Sebastopol, the corps of volunteer sharp-shooters was recruited from the ranks of the chasseurs. Creeping along, hiding in the slightest furrow of ground, they generally succeed in approaching within range of the battery, and then woe to its defenders! The cannons were soon reduced to silence.
It is impossible for any one who has not witnessed the maneuvers of the light infantry to have any conception of the marvels resulting from discipline and daily practice.